The Balance of Power (Godsland Series: Books Four, Five, and Six) (53 page)

Pelivor was the first to emerge, an insuppressible smile on his face. Durin came next and ran toward the
Dragon's Wing.
He'd been aboard before, and he wasted no time in getting to Sinjin. With tears in his eyes, Sinjin's friend lifted him from the deck with his embrace and did not put him back down for a long moment. "You're really here! I can't believe you're really here! I thought it was a trick," Durin said, his voice cracking.

"I'm here," Sinjin said. Then he saw his uncle board the ship. "Uncle Chase!" Again, Sinjin's feet left the deck. Chase trembled and shook when he hugged Sinjin, and he didn't know exactly what emotion Uncle Chase was feeling, but it appeared to be all of them at once. Brother Vaughn came a moment later, and Sinjin stuck an arm out to him, though Uncle Chase still held the rest of him tightly. Brother Vaughn joined the embrace, and Uncle Chase shook again. Then he did as Sinjin had always known him to do, he took a deep, if shuddering, breath and steeled himself.

"It's good to see you, boy."

Those words were enough for Sinjin. He knew the pain his uncle felt, and he had no need to make the man relive it. Uncle Chase had always been there for him and had saved his life more than once. Just having him near was a comfort; it went along with the solace he felt in the presence of his grandfather, Benjin, and others. His world was more complete, and he took a moment to be grateful for that. And so it was that he was standing with his eyes closed, tears staining his cheeks, when Kendra stormed up to him. She glared at him for a moment then she burst into tears and hugged him. Stunned, Sinjin just stood there, not even returning the hug. A moment later it was over and she was gone, disappearing into the deckhouse and slamming her cabin door.

Shaking his head, Sinjin looked up and found Gwen watching him. This time she raised both eyebrows before she turned and strutted away. He watched with anxiety and a bit of amusement. Why did she feel the need to strut like that? Women were either easier to figure out than he'd been led to believe or they were completely unfathomable. Sinjin suspected the latter, but sometimes he wondered. Thinking about it gave him a headache, so he turned his thoughts to other problems, of which there were certainly plenty. In the end, he focused on the thing that bothered him the most, which was not having a home. Sailors made their homes on ships, but Sinjin didn't feel comfortable at sea. This was not the life he would choose, no matter how much Gwen wished it were so. That thought stung more than a little since it meant they were incompatible. Gwen loved the sea, and Sinjin loved the land. Impossible.

Despite intentionally trying not to think about her, or perhaps because of that, Sinjin's thoughts moved to Kendra. Also impossible--most of the time she hated him. Well, maybe
hate
was not the correct word. She was frequently annoyed by him, and he spent a lot of his time hoping she wasn't angry. Then there were moments such as today when she hugged him; it had felt so right . . . until she had stormed off. What was he supposed to do with that?

Shaking his head, he tried again to think about what to do next. He could leave the decisions to others, but this was his life, and his grandfather had already said he would honor whatever Sinjin chose. To receive that honor, Sinjin knew he needed to make a choice.

The new passengers were getting themselves settled, and Sinjin noticed men unloading the wagon. Bundle after bundle came, and Sinjin couldn't imagine what they might contain.

"Trinda sent a message," Brother Vaughn said when he returned to the deck. "She says she's no thief. Your belongings and those of your mother and father have been delivered."

Sinjin swallowed. Something about other people packing his life into neat little bundles and tossing them out cut more deeply than he would have guessed.

"I'm sorry, my boy," Brother Vaughn said. "There's a bit more. She says you're not welcome on the Godfist since she cannot guarantee your safety. She says she does not want that responsibility, though she's allowed those loyal to you to leave and sent with them provisions to make your journey a pleasant one. Be well and live long. That is her message."

Sinjin's eye twitched. His mind could not reconcile his memory of Trinda and the one they said now ruled within Dragonhold. If she was as powerful and controlled as Durin had told him, then everything he knew about her was a lie. It seemed impossible that she would fabricate an entire life of misery just as a ruse. No. Most of what he knew of her had to be true. That left him to wonder how and why the changes had come about.

"I'm very sorry," Brother Vaughn spoke into the silence, "about everything. Your parents were dear to me, as are you. I'll do everything within my power to help you in whatever you decide to do."

"What
are
you going to do?" Durin asked.

"I have no idea," Sinjin said.

Chapter 9

If you believe you cannot do something, then you are almost certainly correct.

--Nora Trell, captain of the
Trader's Wind

* * *

After a long night with little real sleep, Allette watched Thundegar prepare to abandon his home. It seemed surreal, and she felt responsible. It was clear he would not have left this place if not for her. He'd spent two decades building his home, and it was among the most marvelous places she'd ever seen. Still, the Cloud Forest was an unfriendly place, and he himself had said it was no place for people. Twice already, she'd tried to talk him out of leaving, but he would hear no argument.

"We shouldn't need large stores of food or water," he said while rummaging through his implements. "If nothing else, your timing is remarkable; you've hit the seasons just right."

"What about this place? What about your home?"

"The forest will reclaim it within a year," he said, not looking up. "This was never my home, just as the Heights were never my home. There are things I love about this place, but there are things I'd sooner never see again."

"But what about Rastas?"

"That crazy cat'll do just fine. He can run, fight, and swim with the best of them. He doesn't like water, but he lives in the Cloud Forest, for Vestra's sake, and he won't drown. And if there's one thing I know for certain about him, it's that he won't be left behind."

As if on cue, Rastas charged back into the house and leaped up onto his hammock to watch. Allette wondered how much the cat understood. His life and Thundegar's were now in even greater peril than they had been, which made her feel terribly guilty.

"I don't see how we can hope to cross the Jaga without flying," she continued, hoping her words would eventually sink in. "Perhaps we should be thinking of how to get on a dragon flight. Having flown over that place, I can't imagine making it on foot."

"We won't have to cross the entire Jaga," Thundegar said," only a piece of it. We can catch a ship from Mesianto Bay. The place is nearly as dangerous as the Jaga, but I have some things that are prized by the Midlanders, and I should be able to get us passage by ship."

For the first time, Allette felt some real enthusiasm for Thundegar's idea. The longing for the sea was deep in her bones, and her excitement was dampened by only her memories of the Jaga. The Cloud Forest had seemed quaint and welcoming by comparison, and the thought of it let the fear take hold.

"As much as I want to return to the seas, we may never make it across the desert, let alone the swamps and forest. How far is Mesianto Bay?"

"It's far," Thundegar said. "But we'll only be walking part of the way. Trust me."

Allette tried to do as he said, but the ease and relative safety of dragon flight was nearly irresistible. "Where did you get your frying pan?"

Thundegar turned and regarded her with a stern eye. "Even if I'll never return to the Heights, there are some things that should not be discussed. That's among them."

"I'm sorry," Allette said. "It's just that there are some things here that I doubt you brought with you, and you said yourself that you had no metal or metal-working tools. So it made sense to me that you must still have friends, and perhaps those friends could find a way to get us on a dragon flight. Imagine how much faster and safer that would be."

"Impossible," Thundegar said, his visage like a thunderhead. "You are just going to have to believe me. Neither of us is going back to the Heights. What we need are weapons, sharp and sturdy while light and flexible. Fortunately I foresaw the need years ago, and I began making these." Tucked into the woven trees and vines were shafts of polished wood. Thundegar pulled them free and handed them to Allette, who piled them to one side. The pile steadily grew.

"Why so many?" Allette asked. "Are you expecting an army?"

"To be honest, I never knew what to expect. Making these kept my hands busy and nimble during the long nights. For most of my life, I had spent my days making things, and that was taken from me. I had to do something with myself."

"They're beautiful," Allette said when she looked at them more closely.

"Find one that suits you and two more. These'll pay part of our passage."

It took Thundegar no time at all to select his staff and a handful more to carry. Most of those he selected were too tall for Allette but bore elaborate carvings that would surely increase the value. Allette wasn't certain how effective they would be as weapons, but they seemed perfectly suitable walking sticks, and the people of the Midlands loved things that were practical yet beautiful.

Running her hands over the smooth and twisted wood, Allette wondered how Thundegar had created such beautiful staves. The first staff she tried supported her weight well and was light enough that it would not be a burden to carry. It still felt a bit long for her, though, and she set it aside. A shorter staff was partially hidden by the longer ones, but Allette pulled it free. With one feint, she knew this was her staff.

"Take it outside and test it a bit," Thundegar said while he did what he could to pack herbs and spices, though his selection of containers was woefully insufficient. Wooden bowls and cups had served well enough here, in his home, but they would do little to keep the precious leaves, roots, and powders safe and dry. The fact that Thundegar had managed to keep anything dry within the Cloud Forest was a testament to his ingenuity.

Once outside, Allette grabbed the staff at its center and twirled it hand over hand. Thundegar watched from the doorway with a smile. "You've handled a staff before," he said.

"I've had weapons training," Allette said. Rastas watched her from the tree line, his tail twitching. "The staff was never my first choice of weapon, but this one feels good in my hands. It has balance and is light enough to keep my movements nimble."

Stepping from the shadows, Thundegar came with his own staff, and he stood in front of Allette. He said nothing, just lunged forward and swung downward at her thigh. Though clearly this was not his full strength, the blow would have given Allette a nasty bruise had she not stepped aside. "Good," he said. "I'm not as fast as I used to be, but perhaps some sparring will loosen these old joints. Just try not to beat me senseless. My body hurts enough on a good day."

Allette smiled and lowered her staff, all thoughts of retaliation fading with his words. Thundegar then went back into the house and returned with two of the staffs that neither of them had selected. "I won't ask you to use your new staff as a shovel," he said, "but we need to dig a hole."

"How big?"

"Big enough," he said. "Just start digging and I'll let you know when to stop."

Allette wondered what it was the man had against giving her a straight answer, but that just seemed to be the way he was. She accepted him in spite of it, but it infuriated her at times. He seemed to like surprising her with things, and she hated surprises. When he started carrying items out of the house and placing them next to her far-too-small hole, she realized she had a lot of digging to do, so her question was answered. After only two more trips, though, Thundegar stopped making the pile bigger and started digging opposite where Allette worked. She'd never minded hard work; it was something she'd always done, but no one liked to work alone, and having Thundegar digging as well made the task go much more quickly. Once the hole was big enough, Thundegar wrapped some of his most precious belongings in a coarse blanket and placed the bundle in the hole. The two of them carried the slate tabletop from the house and put it on top of the bundle before covering it once again with dark, rich soil.

His frying pan wrapped in his bedroll and a pair of staves strapped to his back, he was ready to leave within minutes. For some reason, Allette was having a harder time letting go of the place than Thundegar was.

"Come on, you crazy cat," Thundegar said. "Let's go somewhere dry."

Rastas ran to his side, head-butted his thigh, and rubbed up against him.

"So I guess that's it?"

"That's it," Thundegar said, and the three of them moved into the Cloud Forest with a strange mixture of excitement and foreboding. If they survived this journey, Allette would be returned to her home, but the very real fact that they might not haunted her. The thought of losing Thundegar or Rastas nearly brought her to tears. Thinking of her father was more than she could hold back, and the emotions flowed. She missed him dearly, but lived every day with the pride of all he'd taught her. She was heading back to her world, the place where she knew what she was about and didn't need someone to take care of her. As thankful as she was for Thundegar, she couldn't wait to get back to a place where she was experienced and competent. For at least a little while longer, though, she'd have to rely heavily on her companions. With resolute will, she committed herself to being as valuable to them as they were to her. When the staves strapped to her back almost immediately got caught in the web of vines and branches that lined what could barely be called a trail, she was humbled once again.

"It'll take some getting used to, I know," Thundegar said, "but the lower we go, the less dense the forest will be. And when we reach the desert, we'll have an entirely new set of problems to deal with; getting tangled in the growth won't be one of them."

Allette kept her mouth shut and concentrated on finding a clear path. Thundegar led the way and did his best to clear obstructions and dangers using his staff, but the growth got thicker and more tangled the farther they ventured from the glade. They were moving into land that he'd less often traveled, and with no one to maintain the trails, the jungle encroached. "These paths were clear just a few months ago. It'll get worse before it gets better."

She'd been hoping the jungle would start to thin soon; instead, it became nearly impassable. Rastas expressed his displeasure when the rains came and there was no place dry for him to lie. While Allette and Thundegar hacked their way through the lush vegetation, he lay under broad fronds, looking miserable as water poured over his soft coat in spite of the large leaves. Frustration set in early for Allette, who had trouble believing just how tough the native plants, branches, and vines were. Knowing many of these plants harbored wildlife and just as many bore natural defenses ready to shred skin, slowed progress even further.

"Maybe we should go back," Allette said. "Maybe all this is just a bad idea."

"No," Thundegar said. "I've waited too long already. I'd given up on living because all the other options were just too hard. I gave up on everything, but you remind me what it is to be alive, and now my hands itch for a hammer and my arms for a woman. No. There'll be no going back."

It was then Allette realized that Thundegar was doing more than just leaving his home; thanks to her, he once again wanted to live his life. Feeling much better about herself, Allette took to the vegetation with renewed vigor, and before long they were moving again, albeit slowly. Rastas dragged himself from beneath the fronds and followed, his fur drooping and matted. When he reached her side, the cat shook and sent musky-smelling water in every direction.

"Crazy cat," Allette said and Thundegar smiled.

* * *

"Fishing is a lousy way to run a ship," Mord said.

Becker Dan steeled himself. He'd known his time was running short. There had been no word from the captain or Allette--just thinking the name hurt. Plenty of correspondence had been received from those the captain owed money, amounts far larger than Becker would ever have guessed. He couldn't imagine how the captain could have borrowed so much. What could he have possibly spent such a kingly sum on?

"We either pay the slip fees we owe," Mord continued, "or they're going to stop letting us sell fish in Maiden Harbor."

"If we keep selling fish in Maiden Harbor, the rest of the creditors are likely to try to seize the ship." As much as Becker didn't want to admit it, Mord was right. "Where do you suggest we go?"

A broad smile crossed Mord's face. "Do you remember when that storm pushed us out into the Endless Sea a few years back?"

"I do," Becker said; it had been a harrowing experience. He knew what was coming next.

"You remember those islands we found?" Mord asked, clearly knowing that Becker remembered. All of them had wanted to explore the islands, which had looked like green jewels amid otherwise deep seas. "Maybe it would be good if the
Maker's Mark
disappeared into the Endless Sea, never to be seen or heard from again."

"And what would you name her?" Becker asked, having known Mord's end game for some time.

"Don't care. This ain't personal, Becker. It's business. The way I see it, the cap'n's dead and so's his get. Dead or locked up. Either way, they ain't coming back. We gotta start over, my friend. Would you rather start anew with all the cap'n's debts or start fresh? A new masthead and some paint and all those debts disappear. Besides, you can't tell me you don't want to know what else is on those islands."

Becker knew he wasn't Mord's friend. The man tolerated him only because of the power he wielded, power not gained by tenure or rank, but by friendship and camaraderie with his shipmates--at least most of them. This was the most difficult kind of power to overthrow, and Mord had little choice but to convince Becker to go along with him; without him, he'd lose well more than half the crew's support. Still, Becker knew he needed to watch his back as well as look out for those he held so dear. After all, it was all of their futures at stake. Becker had done the best he could to preserve Allette's inheritance, but the time had come to bow to practicality. The
Maker's Mark
would be no more. The one thing that Mord was right about was Becker's desire to explore those islands. It had seemed the perfect kind of place to hide things, and he'd wondered ever since the day they had discovered them if someone else had found them long ago and what might still be hidden there. It answered all of the desires that had driven him to be a sailor in the first place, to move without boundaries and to explore and find new places and things.